Ma was heavy, but not fat; thick with child-bearing and work. She wore a loose Mother Hubbard of gray cloth in which there had once been colored flowers, but the color was washed out now, so that the small flowered pattern was only a little lighter gray than the background. The dress came down to her ankles, and he strong, broad, bare feet moved quickly and deftly over the floor. Her thin, steel-gray hair was gathered in a sparse wispy knot at the back of her head. Strong, freckled arms were bare to the elbow, and her hands were chubby and delicate, like those of a plump little girl. She looked out into the sunshine. Her full face was not soft; it was controlled, kindly. Her hazel eyes seemed to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and a superhuman understanding. She seemed to know, to accept, to welcome her position, the citadel of the family, the strong place that could not be taken. And since old Tom and the children could not know hurt or fear unless she acknowledged hurt and fear, she had practiced denying them in herself. And since, when a joyful thing happened, they looked to see whether joy was on her, it was her habit to build up laughter out of inadequate materials. But better than joy was calm. Imperturbability could be depended upon. And from her great and humble position in the family she had taken dignity and a clean calm beauty. From her position as healer, her hands had grown sure and cool and quiet; from her position as arbiter she had become as remote and faultless in judgment as a goddess. She seemed to know that if she swayed the family shook, and if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired the family would fall, the family will to function would be gone. .John Steinbeck
About This Quote
The quote above is about the mother of the family. The mother of the family is not fat, but heavy with child-bearing and work. The mother of the family wears a loose Mother Hubbard of gray cloth in which there has once been colored flowers. However, the color is washed out now, so that the small pattern is only a little lighter gray than the background.
The dress comes down to her ankles, and her strong, broad, bare feet move quickly and deftly over the floor. Her thin, steel-gray hair is gathered in a scant wispy knot at the back of her head. Her strong, freckled arms are bare to the elbow, and her hands are chubby and delicate, like those of a plump little girl.
She looks out into the sunlight. Her full face is not soft; it is controlled, kindly. Her hazel eyes seem to have experienced all possible tragedy and to have mounted pain and suffering like steps into a high calm and a superhuman understanding.
She seems to know that if she swayed her family would fall, that if she ever really deeply wavered or despaired her family would fall, the family will to function would be gone.
Source: The Grapes Of Wrath
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